The Widow

Image by Victoria Regen on Pixabay

No number of catastrophes that day could shake her composure. The church spire groaned, creaked, grated and fell, medieval masonry tumbling all around – she stood her ground. The water pipe feeding the outside standpipe – for the bereaved to fill their flowering pots – burst with a geyser-like gush and flooded his grave. She showed not a qualm. When little Lucy slipped on a stone and shot headfirst onto his coffin amidst much alarm, not a lash did she batter.

All agreed that woman, so pleased to see him gone, attended with perfect aplomb.

92 words written for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Aplomb

About crispina kemp

Spinner of Asaric and Mythic tales
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11 Responses to The Widow

  1. Sadje says:

    Nerves of steel 😅

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Dale says:

    And… nothing for little Lucy? That’s not aplomb, that’s a whole ‘nother thing 😉

    Liked by 1 person

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